A Chance Encounter
by SophieDevereauxtoo
Summary: Just a one off. A bit of back story. Based on an exchange in The Nigerian Job. Nate "When was the last time you heard someone named Victor?" Eliot "Ban Houzai" Sophie "A little town on the Chinese border?" Eliot "That's a strange place for you to know about" Sophie "That's a strange place for you to be" Note Until I figure how to edit, where you see 'Afghans' read 'Chinese'


He look around the dingy room. It is hotter than Hades, the fan on the ceiling only moving the hot air around. In front of him is a table and on the table is a thick packet, wrapped and tied with a string. The older man sitting behind the table has his hand laying on the packet possessively. Several other men, guards, are lying on the floor near the doorway. One is sitting rubbing a growing bruise on his jaw. He takes several steps toward the man at the table and holds out his hand. "Why do we always have to do this the hard way?" he asks. The man at the table glares at him then slowly pushes the packet toward him. He smiles. "See? That wasn't so hard." He takes the packet and shoves it down the waistband in the front of his jeans. He runs his fingers through his hair and smiles at the man at the table. As he turns to go, the only conscious guard begins to stand up as if to block his way. He stares at him and cracks his knuckles. The guard sits back down. "Smart move" he says as he steps over another guard and disappears out the door.

He moves quickly down the dirt street of the small dingy town. "Why do these places always have to be so hot" mumbles. He's almost back to his waiting vehicle when he hears a loud bang. He recognizes the report of a sniper's rifle at the same time the bullet hits him in the back of his thigh. "Goddamn it!" he swears as his momentum propels him forward into a shoulder roll. The move saves his life as another shot whizzes by his ear. He swears again as he looks for some place where he can hide and assess the damage to his leg. A building stands in front of him. He rolls into the doorway just as another bullet flies through the space he just occupied. One good blow of his shoulder and the door flies open. He stumbles through the doorway, trying to force his eyes to see through the dark of the room.

Satisfied that there is no immediate danger, he carefully inspects his leg. It looks as if the bullet entered in his hamstring muscle and exited out through his quadriceps. There doesn't look to be any real damage besides blood loss. He removes the bandana he wears on his forehead and ties it around the wound in his leg. That will do for now. His eyes have slowly adjusted to the dim light. The building seems to be just one room. There are no windows and no other doors that he can see. The heat and humidity are almost unbearable. He starts a quick search looking for anything he can use as a weapon to help him escape should the Afghans come looking for him. As he moves toward the dark back corner of the room, he hears a slight shuffling sound. He is not alone in the room. He freezes, holding his breath, straining to hear any other sounds of life.

He has just about convinced himself that the noise came from some sort of animal when he hears it again, followed by a quiet groan. Definitely human. Probably hurt. Female? He slowly moves toward the place where the sound emanated.

He reaches the back wall of the room then moves along it until he reaches a dark figure sitting on a chair. He peers closely at the figure. It is a woman though he can't see much more than that. Her face is all in shadow though some of the dark seems to be out of place. He reaches to touch her and she pulls away from his hand. "Ok Darlin'. It's OK." He has no idea if she speaks English or not but his tone seems to comfort her a bit. "Is it safe in here?" he asks. She nods slightly. "Another way out?" Another nod then she turns her head slightly toward the shadows behind her. "A back door. Can you walk?" She shakes her head then lowers her eyes toward her feet. He follows her look and finds her feet and then her hands bound to the chair. He pulls out his knife to cut the ties and she recoils, almost tipping the chair she's sitting in. "It's ok. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm the good guy here. OK?" She nods again though he can see she's frightened. He quickly slices through the plastic binding her to the chair then puts his hand under her arm and helps her stand. She immediately stumbles and he has to catch her before she falls to the ground. "Feet numb? Been sitting there a while huh?" He wraps his arm around her and lifts her again. They move slowly toward the door she pointed out to him. He leans her against the wall and slowly opens the door, blinking in the bright sunlight. The road seems to be clear. He can see his truck waiting just across the street. He measures the distance carefully, trying to decide if it is safe or a trap. By himself, he can move quickly, but dragging a woman? That complicates things in many ways. He looks back at the woman who is slumped against the wall. He can't, he won't leave her behind. The code of conduct he lives by would not allow it even if he didn't think she was seriously injured.

"Ready to go Darlin'?" he asks as he lifts her again. She doesn't answer but she seems a bit steadier on her feet. "Keep your head down and move fast." He tells her. "I have a truck just around the corner." She nods. He wraps his arm tight around her and they move, slower than he had hoped, across the open space to his vehicle. He practically throws her into the passenger seat then searches for the key he left hidden under the seat. With key in hand and his passenger somewhat secured, he starts the truck and races toward the border and relative safety.

He finally slows down when he reaches Dong Van. His leg is throbbing, which isn't a problem but it is still bleeding and that is a big problem. He's going to need to find a place where he can clean up and dress the wound properly. He looks sideways at his passenger. She might have been a beautiful woman, if it weren't for the bruises and blood on her face. Her clothes are torn and hanging loosely. She wasn't a large woman to start but now she looks to be skin and bones, her knees are pulled to her chest and she's shrinking back into the truck seat. He's pretty sure she's European or American though she hasn't spoken a word to him and he still isn't sure if she understands English. What she was doing in a place like Ban Houzai is beyond him. The only thing he's sure of is that she has been tortured. He clenches his teeth. Only an animal would treat a woman this way. He hopes that one of the men he hurt was responsible for this.

Two Anglos covered in blood and dirt are bound to attract attention even in a place like this. He quickly finds a seedy looking hotel in a questionable part of town. He secures a room then calls for a couple of kids, speaking to them in Vietnamese, he hands them a wad of bills and sends them off on a mission. In the meantime, he helps his new ward from the truck and up the stairs to their room. He carefully removes her clothes, noting the cuts, burns and bruises that dot her pale skin. He lays her carefully down on the bed and gets a wet cloth to clean her up and see how badly she's really hurt. While he works, he tries different languages, hoping she'll respond to one of them.

The whole left side of her face is bruised and swollen. Her black hair is matted in blood from a cut somewhere above her brow. A large purple bruise covers her jawbone and her eye is swollen shut. He can still see the knuckle marks where someone hit her with a closed fist. He has to excuse himself to the bathroom to regain control of his anger. The last thing she needs right now is another big angry man standing over her.

He tries Vietnamese, Chinese and several other local languages without a response. Her eyes are open but she doesn't seem to be aware of him or his ministrations. He finally gives up and goes to meet the boys who have returned with clothing, food and bandages. After tending to his own wound, he quickly eats then goes back to his patient. She seems to be sleeping and he gently shakes her awake. "Hey Darlin'" he drawls. "You need to eat something." She shakes her head then closes her eyes as she winces in pain. "Ok. So you understand English then. American?" She shakes her head again, gentler this time. "British?" "French" she finally speaks in very heavily accented English. "Ok. English it is then" he smiles at her. "How's the head?" She winces again at the thought of it. "You took some pretty good shots there" he tells her. "You been sick?" She nods. "Pretty sure you've got a concussion. Gonna have to keep an eye on you for a while. Unless you want me to find a hospital?" She shakes her head too hard this time and her pain is visible. "Right. Didn't think so. Don't know who you are or what you were doing in Ban Houzai but that is definitely not the place for a lady. She gives him a half smile. "I am not exactly a lady" she responds in her heavy accent. He laughs and she joins in.

He finally talks her into drinking some water and eating a few bites of food before she passes, claiming nausea. He shakes his head at that. "Not good Darlin'. Not good." He tells her that he needs to check her for more cuts and bruises. "I need to get you cleaned up. That place was filthy. Don't want to save your life only to have you go die on me because of some infection." "My hero" she tells him as he carefully uncovers her and cleans her with a cloth and water." "Need something stronger" he says as he digs in his bag for a flask. He pours the whisky into her wounds, trying to ignore the pain he's causing. As he works slowly down her body, he begins to worry. "They didn't um...I don't know how to ask this but, did they?" She closes her eyes and turns her head away. "Damn" he swears under his breath. "I can clean you up Darlin' but you're going to need more help than I can give you." She looks back at him and takes his hand. "Thank you" she whispers. He takes a deep breath to try to control himself then goes back to his work.

He carefully slips clean clothes over her head and puts her back in the bed. He pulls off his own pants. Her eyes get wide and he immediately feels guilty for what she must be thinking. "It's Ok." He tells her. "I've got a little scratch myself I need to take care of." Her eyes get even wider when she sees the bullet holes in his leg. He pours the rest of his whiskey into the wound and fights the urge to scream. "Damn. That hurts worse than getting shot!" he says. She gives him another small smile. He gives her a smile back. He saw the small round scar she carries on her back. She's been shot herself. He wonders again what kind of trouble she gets herself into. Despite her protest and the signs in front of him, he still thinks that she is much more of a lady than she leads him to believe.

It's late and they both are getting tired. He tucks her into the bed and tries to settle himself into the hard chair in the corner of the room. She offers the bed next to her but he can't make himself do that. Every hour or so, he wakes and goes to shake her, shining a pen light into her eyes, trying to judge the severity of her concussion. After the 3rd time, she's had it. "Merde! Laissez-moi trainquille!" "Okay okay. I'll leave you alone. You're fine anyway." She rolls over and goes back to sleep and he returns to his uncomfortable resting place.

He is up early the next morning and goes out looking for food and coffee. When he returns she is awake and sitting up. She takes the drink and a piece of bread. "Tea would be better" she tells him. "Sorry Darlin'" he replies. "Best I could do. It's not exactly a center of tourism out there." She shrugs and takes another sip, wincing at the bitter taste of the coffee. He checks her over again and makes sure her injuries are infection free and healing, the ones he can fix anyway. While she naps, he dresses his own wound. He is not used to being in one place this long. He's getting anxious, going stir crazy. He knows it's time to move on but that's not going to be easy with his new French friend in tow.

When she wakes, he tells her "I have some business to do. I'll be back later. Try and rest". She nods and smiles. "Merci" she tells him. "Merci pour tout." "You are welcome Darlin'" he says. "Anytime." She smiles at that. "No. I think not" she says. He laughs as he heads out the door.

His business is back in that dingy little border town where he hunts down the men responsible for holding and hurting the woman. He would like to tell her but bragging is not his style. He is satisfied that they won't be torturing women, or anyone else again.

When he returns several hours later, she is gone.

It will be many years before Sophie and Eliot meet again. Though they have their suspicions, neither will be sure of the circumstances which first brought them together.


End file.
